


An Angel's Purpose

by Cynthia_Silver



Series: Destiel Smut [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, But Mostly Smut, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff, Handcuffs, Impala Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Safewords, Sex Magic, Sub Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Silver/pseuds/Cynthia_Silver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel remembers that angels are meant to serve.  Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel's Purpose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS/gifts).



“Aw, come on, Sam!” Dean whined at his brother, whose glare was unparalleled in its level of done-with-your-crap,-Dean.  “Do you _really_ want me to make some half-assed attempt at research when I know there’s a perfectly awful witch to be hunting?”

Sam gave an aggravated huff.  “No Dean, I want you to make a _whole_ -assed attempt.  We don’t even know if this thing is a witch at all, and you want to go killing it?” Dull static flitted through the air between the two. 

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”  Sam visibly relaxed.  “I’ve just been itching to get out on another hunt for weeks now and-“

“So have I, Dean, but that doesn’t mean we should just go rushing into this one like a couple of morons.”

“Okay. Okay!” was the almost shouted response.  The static seemed to fizzle out quickly, leaving only mild frustration in its wake.

The sound of laptops booting up and pages turning filled the silence left in the room.  Shadows grew longer across the floor as Sam and Dean’s patience grew shorter, when finally:

“Yahtzee!” exclaimed Dean, rubbing his hands together.  “Sammy, I got it, it’s a-“

“The djinn is dead.”

Dean’s mouth lolled open slightly before snapping shut.  Castiel, in all his trench-coated glory, suddenly was standing beside the television, causing static to appear on the screen.

Sam spoke up first, surprised but not at all displeased.  “Cas! Hey man, what are you-“

“It’s about damn time you showed up,” Dean interrupted, exasperated. Sam scowled at his brother as he stood, pushing his laptop aside.

“I’ve been… busy,” was Cas’s predictable response, though he seemed almost sheepish about it.  Dean softened.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for almost a week now, Cas,” Sam pointed out.  “I’ve been worried about you, and Dean,” Sam lifted his eyebrows, giving Dean a knowing look, “Dean’s been going out of his _mind_.”  Dean reddened at the comment, but couldn’t be bothered to think of some sassy retort because the trueness of the statement was staggering.

Cas looked sorry.  He really did, and it wasn’t just for show.  They could tell Cas was being genuine when he said “I did not intend to cause you worry,” which was as close as Cas usually got to an apology these days.  Cas looked to Dean, eyes piercing blue.  “I need you to come with me,” he stated plainly, stepping closer to Dean, and Sam almost rolled his eyes, though he could understand why Dean and Cas would want some… alone time.  Yes. That was the least mentally-scarring phrase.  Sam had long since stopped asking where they were going.  The first time he had asked Cas, he had felt the need to pour bleach into his skull to rid himself of the mental image.  He was truly happy for his brother and his friend, but really, he did _not_ want to know all the details.

Dean blinked, still a little upset at Castiel, though pleased by the proposition. “Yeah, okay, but I’m driving.”  He stood and grabbed his keys from the table beside him, eager to escape both the research and the dim motel room.  And to possibly go have hot angel sex.  Any of those, really.  “See you in a few hours or something, Sammy.” He patted Sam’s shoulder with vigor as Sam shook his head, smirking a little.  “Stay out of trouble and, uh, maybe find us a new hunt?  You know, since feathers here took all the fun right out of this one,” he teased, suddenly in a better mood than he had been in for days.

“Yeah, whatever dude, just get far enough away that I won’t hear you,” Sam called, already thumbing through the Yellow Pages to look for something to do.

Dean rudely gestured behind him as he tugged Cas by the sleeve out the door, yanking it shut behind them.  Dean squinted at the light as his eyes adjusted.  When he blinked, Cas was seated in his locked car.  Dean rolled his eyes and unlocked his door like a normal human being.

Normal by comparison.

It was only a few seconds after he shut his door that he felt a hand bunch in his shirt and dry lips meet his.  Cas seemed to be eager this week.  He leaned into the touch, smiling as he melted a little, saying _I missed you_ and even _I love you_ with his tongue and lips.  When they broke apart, Dean panted, “To what do I owe the visit, Cas?” 

The sun reflected golden off Cas’s blue eyes as it would across the ocean.  “I’ll tell you later,” he said, calm, seemingly at peace, a smile suggested on his face.  “Now drive.”

The Impala purred as Dean turned the key and music murmured softly from hushed speakers.  “Anywhere in particular?” Dean asked as he pulled out of the motel parking lot. 

Cas wouldn’t say where they were going, enigmatic as he always was, but instead instructed Dean like a GPS that had swallowed too much of the road.  Cas lead Dean onto back roads and through farm country until at last they arrived at the pinnacle of a romantic escape; an abandoned farmyard with a dilapidated barn struggling to stand, surrounded by weeds long untouched by scythe or shear, and the occasional stray shrub reaching weakly to the dusk.

Dean pulled in, wary and slightly confused.  “Cas.  What’s this about, man?  Where are we?”  he asked, parking the car and turning towards Cas as Def Leppard sang quietly, subdued, “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”

Cas was silent for a moment, only stared straight out the window, and then said, “I need something from you, Dean.”

Dean’s heart constricted slightly. “What are you talking about?”  Silence.  “Cas!” Dean said loudly, fear quickly closing its fist around his chest.

“While I was away,” Cas began calmly, prompted by Dean’s panic, “I remembered something valuable, something I had forgotten.”  Cas removed his coat in a few fluid motions and folded it sloppily in his lap.  Dean relaxed, swallowed.  “I suppose it took all this unrest in heaven for me to realize it…” Slowly, Cas turned his head to meet Dean’s gaze, and Cas was giving him _that look_ that always meant good things for Dean.

“And what would that be?” Dean croaked, fear gone and already replaced by pressure in his jeans. 

“Angels,” Cas rumbled, leaning over, “are meant to serve.”  With that he tugged at the zipper on Dean’s pants, freeing his growing erection.  “Dean, I need something from you,” repeated Cas, pulling Dean’s erection out from his boxers.

 Dean gripped the seat tightly.  “What’s that Cas? Anything you need…” Dean asked, blood rushing quickly from his brain.  Cas lowered his head, blowing steamy breath over Dean’s cock.

“I need you,” breathed Cas, so quiet Dean had to strain to hear, “to let me serve you.”

Dean’s brain was barely functioning.  “Yeah, Cas, do that…” he groaned, arousal deafening him.

Cas licked along Dean’s head and a breathy moan escaped Dean.  “I want you to tell me what you want, Dean.  Tell me what to do.”

Dean bucked up a little in his seat, hands reaching for Cas’s hair, pushing Cas, pliant, towards his swollen cock.  “I want you,” he said, voice unwavering, “to blow me, Cas.”

“Yes, Dean,” breathed Cas, lips brushing over Dean’s erection.

Warmth and wetness surrounded Dean as Cas bobbed up and down, drawing deep moans from Dean as Cas licked and sucked.  Dean began to rock his hips up, pushing himself further into Cas’s throat as Cas hummed around him.  With one swallow, Dean came into Cas, shaking with the force of his orgasm, moaning Cas’s name.  Cas worked him through the aftershocks, soothing as Dean leaned his head back and attempted to put himself back together. 

With a wave of his fingers, any mess vanished.  Gently, Cas put replaced Dean’s flaccid cock in his boxers and zipped up his jeans.

A flash of tan in Dean’s periphery told him that Cas was putting on his coat again.  Dean panted, limp for the moment, and then breathed, “Cas.  Hold on a minute,” before reaching over to tug Cas into a lazy kiss, tasting himself in his angel’s mouth.  Cas, one coat sleeve still hanging off, all but crawled into Dean’s lap, trying to get as much of Dean as he could touch. 

With a soft press of his palm against Cas’s chest, he pushed Cas away from him, gently.  Dean was still catching his breath.  “So you want me to tell you what to do, huh?” panted Dean, mischief playing in his eyes.

“Yes, Dean,” was the quiet response.

“Well then, Castiel,” said Dean, and it felt natural to him to do so.  He felt Cas shiver as he pushed him back into his seat with one hand and made a mental note to call him that again and again.  “I want to see you touch yourself.”  It was true.  Dean had never seen his angel masturbate, not even after all the times they had had sex before.  Cas removed his coat again and began working on his zipper, a little frantic for contact.  “Go slower,” demanded Dean as he raked his eyes over Cas, so that he could gauge every face and gasp.

The belt came undone first, Cas’s shaking hands working slowly over the bulge in his pants, removing layers while Dean watched, already becoming aroused again.  Cas unzipped his pants and pulled out his length, beginning to stroke himself slowly, as he was told.  He grunted, keeping his achingly slow pace. 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly when he realized Cas’s restraint, his obedience.  Mouth dry, voice rough, he said, “Now faster, Castiel.  I wanna see you come.”

Cas moaned softly and immediately began stroking himself in earnest.  Dean palmed himself through his jeans at the sight, watching as Castiel did such a dirty thing in the passenger’s seat of his car.  The car bounced slightly with Cas’s increasingly erratic movements, and soon Cas was panting, eyes glazed over with pleasure.  In a moment, Cas came with a grunt, and white streaked across his dress clothes.  Cas closed his eyes and leaned back, as Dean had done before, still jerking now and again.  His eyes met Dean’s, filled with gratitude.  “Thank you, Dean,” he murmured, smiling, relaxed. 

“Yeah, any time, Cas.  Seriously.”

In a moment, Cas was gone.

* * *

"You can’t  _hurt_ me, Dean!” Cas exclaimed, arms crossed and back turned.  “I don’t see the need for a ‘safeword’ when I can just heal anything you do to me.”

“Cas, I don’t like it!” Dean argued.  “Look, those handcuffs you made bind your grace,” he countered, “and I want to make sure I don’t go too far with you, okay?  Besides,” he said, voice lowering in intensity, “not all damage is physical, Cas.  I don’t want to hurt you... upstairs,” Dean finished awkwardly, fumbling with his hands. 

Cas sighed, uncrossing his arms, turning to look at Dean.  “Dean,” he soothed, “I know what you’re thinking,” and suddenly Dean scrunched up his eyebrows, feeling very self-conscious about his thoughts.  “You don’t trust yourself with a knife and my skin.  You’re afraid of yourself, Dean, and you’re afraid you might enjoy too much the feeling of making me bleed.”  Dean was silent, eyes downcast.  “You know it might take more than a word to stop you.”  When Dean did not respond, Cas sat down beside him and placed a comforting hand on his leg, a gesture so human it almost shocked Dean. 

Dean sat quietly, unmoving for a long minute, feeling the warmth from Cas’s hand seep into his leg.  “I want to give you what you need, Cas, I do, I just…” Dean trailed.

 Another long minute passed.

“I have an idea,” said Cas suddenly, standing and pulling up to stand with him.  Silver glinted as Cas dropped his angel blade into his hand and used it to cut a small line across his palm, blood flowing through the newly cut creek bed.  He then grabbed Dean’s palm before lifting his eyebrows, asking permission.  Dean nodded at Cas, though there was a question in his eyes.  The only sign of pain he showed was a faint squint as the metal bit into his flesh. 

Cas interlocked their fingers, palms facing inward, blood mixing, and began to chant, low in his throat, an ancient Enochian binding spell.  Red light seeped from between their palms, and Dean stared in fascination, feeling the light tickle between them.  The light faded and the chanting stopped, leaving the two men standing together, hands entwined.  The faint sound of ringing metal hung in the air.

 Dean slipped his hand from Castiel’s grasp only to find that there was no longer a cut on either of them.  He looked up, wondering at the angel.  “What did you do?”

Cas sat back down, seeming to catch his breath, though he wasn’t struggling for it.  “I created a… ‘safeword’ for us, as you would call it.” 

Dean stared blankly for a moment.  “So… so we mixed blood and held hands and now there’s a.. a safeword? Cas, man, I’m not following here.”

“I used an Enochian spell, as you might have guessed, so that when I say a certain word in my true voice, you will be forced to stop whatever you are doing,” Cas explained.  “You might have heard a part of it at the end of the incantation.”

Comprehension dawned on Dean.  “You could just… stop me?  Just like that?”  Dean asked, hope beginning to form in his chest that he would be able to satisfy Cas’s needs after all. 

“Yes, Dean,” responded Cas as he pulled Dean in for a kiss.  “Though if I need to use a less drastic means of stopping you,” he continued, “I suppose I could just say…. ‘Poughkeepsie’. “

* * *

 

The first time Dean ever used a knife on Cas was a disaster.  Even with Cas unrestrained, Dean’s hands shook for the fear of what he was doing, of how much he might enjoy it.  It reminded him too much of his time in Hell.  In the end, Cas had taken the knife out of Dean’s hands before one scratch was made, and held him gently, understanding, soothing him.  They made love tenderly after that.

Dean still knew that Cas wanted the pain that only a knife could bring, however, and was not deterred by his first failure.  His hands did not shake as badly the second time, though Cas had had to guide Dean’s hand to actually make a thin scratch on his chest, barely breaking the skin.  They both exhaled in pleasure at the same time they tensed at the cause of it.  Dean only made a few cuts that night, the rest without Cas’s assistance. 

Dean liked to watch Cas heal them, liked to see the light glow inside, little glimpses of Cas’s true being.  He appreciated that he could be rougher with Cas than he could, or should, be with any human.

Cas enjoyed the release of chemicals in his vessel, the release of control that accompanied allowing Dean to do this to him.

Every time after that that Dean had used a knife to please Castiel (and himself, if he were being an honest man), he grew bolder, relaxing into it, trusting Castiel to stop him if he crossed a line.  Eventually he felt comfortable enough to use the Enochian-carved handcuffs in conjunction with the knife.  That night was a success, if Castiel’s moans of pleasure by the end of it were anything to go by, and neither Dean nor Cas had looked back since.

* * *

Dean knew what Cas needed.

 “Angels are meant to serve,” Cas had told Dean that breathless night, shortly leaning over to unzip Dean’s jeans from the passenger’s side of the Impala.

More importantly, _Cas_ knew that Dean knew what he needed.  Castiel had been a soldier.  He was created to take orders, felt a deep, intrinsic joy at completing the tasks given to him-- that is, until Dean had shown Castiel what free will was.  He began to question his orders.  He no longer felt the ecstasy that had once accompanied a job well done, for he was far too concerned with the cost. 

Despite this, Castiel, from the deepest parts of his being, _needed_ to be commanded from time to time.  He was still an angel, after all, and had confessed as much to Dean, who was more than happy to fulfil Cas’s desires.

Yes, Dean knew _exactly_ what Cas needed the day he opened his door to see Cas there, perched on Dean’s bed, waiting, coat folded in a neat pile on the bed beside him. 

Dean paused at the door a moment as Cas stared into him, rigid, his eyes cloudy with need.   “Dean,” Cas greeted, though it held the hint of a question, lined with thin uncertainty. 

Damn if it didn’t send tingles all through Dean to see Cas like this, already wanting.

Dean sauntered slowly into the room, shutting his door and locking it behind him with a soft click.  When he turned from the door to face Cas, Dean’s face was a stern mask.

Dean knew what Cas needed.

“Castiel.”

Cas’s breath hitched slightly and his eyes fluttered shut with both relief and anticipation.  _Cas_ was a name Dean called his friend and lover.  _Castiel_ was an angel’s name, a soldier’s name.  When Cas opened his eyes, Dean loomed in front of him, a hint of pleasure dancing around the cold lines of his mouth.  “Castiel,” Dean repeated, voice low.  “Why are you here?”

Dean knew.  Cas knew.  A hard little knot tied itself behind Cas’s ribs.  This was always the most difficult part for Castiel; confession of his needs, his vulnerability, and in this case, his guilt.

Cas lowered his eyes from Dean, still sitting stiff on the bed as he admitted quietly, “I want you to punish me, Dean.”  Cas felt Dean’s half-lidded stare burning him as he waited, silence punctuating his sentence and forcing it to sit in his mind, his gut, like a shameful weight.  Each second ticked by slowly as Dean seemed to decide whether this was worth his time, though in all actuality Dean’s mind was having a difficult time organizing words.

“Stand up,” Dean commanded, finally.  Cas rose slowly, standing still a few feet in front of Dean, still not meeting his gaze.  “Take off your clothes.”

Cas immediately began undoing buttons and zippers, shucking everything into a pile at his feet while Dean’s ever expanding pupils gazed hungrily at each newly revealed plane of flesh.  Soon each article of clothing lay at his feet, messy and rumpled, leaving Cas flushed and somewhat aroused. 

Dean knew what Cas needed when he gave his next command.  “Now pick those up and fold them.”  It was a simple, unsexy command, but Dean swore he saw Cas’s length twitch a little as he stooped to gather each item to fold it neatly and place it beside his coat.  Maybe Castiel felt exposed when Dean watched him like this, fully clothed while Cas was naked.  Perhaps it was the anticipation, still.  Dean could never be sure why, but every time, without fail, the most simple commands like this seemed to touch some part of Castiel that not even the dirtiest words could.

Also, Dean did like to watch Cas bend over.

When Castiel was finished, he stood by the bed, obediently waiting, cheeks slightly reddened in contrast to his light skin.  “Clear the bed,” Dean ordered, “and when you’ve done that, lie down on it.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said, and quickly did as he was told, leaving all his clothes in a chair before lying down, heart beginning to beat a little harder as his arousal began to build.  Dean, too, began to feel his blood flowing south at the sight of the angel, splayed out naked because he had told him to.

Dean approached the bed and crouched down by the side, sitting on his haunches with his arms crossed over the sheets, head beside Castiel’s as Cas stared into the ceiling, not daring to meet Dean’s eyes.  “Now,” Dean began, causing Cas to shiver a little as he felt Dean’s words tickle his ear.  “I’m going to touch you, and you aren’t going to move.  Do you understand me, Castiel?”  Cas swallowed and nodded, breath coming more quickly now.

Dean stood now and crawled dexterously onto the bed, planting his knees and hands into the sheets on either side of Cas so that he could look down into Cas’s wide eyes before leaning down to kiss him hard in the mouth.  He slipped his tongue past Castiel’s pliant lips, tasting Cas, then pulled it out suddenly to bite down on Cas’s lip.  Dean smiled when Cas twitched, still working his lip between his teeth until Cas let out a faint whimper.  Dean soothed Cas’s swollen lip with a swipe of his tongue that was too quick to really dull the pain, and pulled away, feeling Cas’s chest rise and fall beneath him.

Dean lifted his hand to play with Cas’s nipple as he spoke softly.  “I don’t even _need_ to tie you up, do I, angel?”  Cas squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to squirm.  “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”  Suddenly Dean pinched down on the nipple and Cas gasped, jerking slightly.  “Tell me why you want to be punished, Castiel.”

Cas groaned inwardly.  He wished Dean wouldn’t ask him why, but still, he told him every time.  Sometimes the answers were trivial, almost lies.  Others, they were things Cas felt deeply guilty about.  Cas tried not to stutter as he confessed.  “I want you to punish me because-“ Cas grunted as Dean pinched again in the middle of his sentence. “because I keep f-failing…”  Cas trailed off, hoping this was enough for Dean.

It wasn’t.

Dean sat back on Castiel’s thighs, just below Cas’s erection, and used his left hand to trap Cas’s other nipple, pinching it forcefully as he rubbed the other with the pad of his thumb.  “Keep failing who, Castiel?” Dean questioned, voice rough and deep.

A soft moan fell from Cas’s lips.  “I keep failing heaven and… and earth a-and…”  Cas whined a little as Dean’s shirt just grazed his cock.  “and you,” Cas concluded, mouth parted even after the words had stopped, letting out little puffs of breath.

Dean stilled his hands and leaned himself over Castiel again, lifting off of his thighs and moving his hands back to the sheets beside Cas.  He leaned down to Castiel’s ear and whispered, “I will punish you, Castiel, until you believe that you don’t deserve it.”

Without warning, Cas felt a finger pressing against his hole, burning as it pushed.  He couldn’t help it and jerked up, nearly hitting Dean as he did so.  The finger stopped moving as Cas stilled, sweat beginning to form on his body.  “I told you not to move,” Dean growled.  “This is your only warning.  Now be still.” 

Cas nodded and bit his already sore lip as Dean slowly fingered him open agonizingly with no lube.  Dean must have felt either pity or impatience for Cas, who was twitching in an effort to keep still, because after a minute or so, Dean pulled his finger out only to return it a few seconds later, coated in lube.  Cas groaned deep within his throat, hands clenching slightly at the blankets as Dean worked more quickly.

A second finger entered sooner than Cas was expecting, causing him to sit up slightly.  Dean did not stop, only said, “I’ll have to punish you for that.  That’s one.”

 _One what?_ Cas wondered vaguely with faint dread through the sensation and tension in his body. Cas could taste blood in his mouth from his tormented lip. He felt Dean’s fingers work deeper into him, and finally they began to brush on the edge of his sweet spot.  Cas whimpered at the strain of trying not to move.

“Do you want me to touch you here, Castiel?”  Dean asked as he drew his two fingers in and out of Cas very slowly.  Cas, who was focusing on not spreading his legs any further apart, only nodded, lost in the desire.  Dean chuckled cruelly and pulled out entirely, leaving Cas bereft and wanting.  “That’s a shame,” he said as Cas choked out a noise borne of frustration.  “I’m not going to.”

Dean rubbed a final ring of lube around Cas’s hole to ensure that he felt the emptiness fully before wiping the rest onto one of Cas’s sore nipples.  Dean began drawing his forefinger across it, scraping it gently with his finger nail at the end of each long stroke.  As he did so, he licked Cas’s other nipple a few times before blowing on it to harden it up, and then closed his teeth around it.

Cas shouted and writhed up against Dean, accidentally rubbing up against Dean’s own growing erection. Dean gasped and released both nipples in his shock.  When he regained balance, he said, “That’s two, angel.”  He then added.  “I should make it three, for your little tease.  You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

The bed dipped as Dean suddenly got off the bed.  Castiel watched him closely, still tense on the bed, clenching every muscle, and taking stock of every sensation.  His busted lip was apparent, and he felt the sting of his abused nipples, but above that was the ache in his cock and the wetness around his hole, driving him mad. 

Dean began to remove his own clothes quickly, tossing away each layer, watching Cas the whole time.  Cas licked his stinging lips at the sight, though he didn’t dare turn his head for a clearer view.

Now Dean sidled up to lay beside Cas on his side, facing him, completely naked.  “I’m going to touch you,” Dean repeated, saying it the same way he did before.  “Don’t move, and don’t come.”  This is what Dean meant.  This was Cas’s punishment.  Cas whimpered with realization at this command, even as Dean began to slide his hand down Cas’s quickly heaving chest.  After all, Dean knew what Cas needed.

Dean wrapped his hand around Cas and began to drag his hand loosely up and down.  Cas shuddered at the motion, sweat covering his body.  Dean gradually began to tighten his grip, and Cas began to twitch his hands again for purchase, began to tense his legs to keep them still.  He felt the heat coiling within him too quickly.

Cas couldn’t hold on and began to moan. “Dean… D-Dean, please, I can’t-“ As Cas was just about to orgasm, Dean pressed his finger into the base of Cas’s cock, cutting off the orgasm.

Something like a sob escaped Cas as Dean said, “One.”

Dean gave Cas time to come back from the edge by soothing his swollen lip with gentle licks and kisses.  When he felt that Cas had come down enough, he moved from Cas’s lips down his chest, kissing a path down to his swollen cock instead.  Dean had only licked up his shaft twice before Cas was already choking out another plea and Dean had to cut off the orgasm again.

“That’s two,” declared Dean.  “You’re taking your punishment so well, Castiel,” Dean praised even as Cas whimpered and twitched, flushed and achingly hard.  Dean occupied himself with tracing one of Cas’s hands, and after a minute or two began to trail his fingers up the tense arm, and then back down Cas’s side, stopping to drag lazy circles around Cas’s hip bone, saying as he did so, “Do you deserve to come, Castiel?”

Cas was aching.  Every part of his body screamed at him to move, to get release, to say yes, except his guilt.  He felt like groaning with dread as he finally stammered, “N-no, I don’t.”

Dean’s hand stilled, then moved to trace Cas’s cock.  Cas groaned even at the first touch.  “Please,” Cas choked, “don’t, Dean, not again…” 

Dean began to swirl his finger around Cas’s head as he asked again, “Do you deserve to come?”

The answer was a grunted “No.”

“So you want me to keep punishing you?”

Cas really did not want this torment to go on any longer but forced himself to nod, weakly.  This was penance. 

Dean lifted his fingertips away from Cas’s cock slowly.  “Fine,” Dean said, reaching for something on the table.  When Dean’s hand came back into view, it held a pair of handcuffs covered in Enochian sigils.  Cas panted at the sight of them, breaths escaping in forced puffs.  Dean coaxed Cas’s hands above his head.  Stiff shoulders ached with the sudden release in tension.  The cuffs clicked around Cas’s wrists fairly loosely and Cas sagged with the relief of not having to keep still any longer.  At the same time, his body tingled with the feeling of having his grace confined to just below the skin of his vessel, sharpening every sensation, and he gasped.

Dean debated what to do next as Cas writhed somewhat in an effort to control his vessel under the onslaught of deepening feelings.  Frankly, he hadn’t been expecting Cas to hold out for this long.  The handle of one of Dean’s daggers peeked into the corner of his vision, and a deep, roiling excitement mixed with faint fear bubbled inside Dean as he reached for it and spun it slowly in front of Castiel’s wide-blown eyes.  “Do you want me to punish you with this?” Dean asked, holding the blade loosely in his hands, waiting for Castiel to respond.  Dean always had taken a dark, twisted pleasure in torture, and had always feared that pleasure.  Here, though, with Cas, he felt safe, oddly enough, like Cas wouldn’t let him get too far gone into it.  Cas had provided a reasonably healthy outlet for all of Dean’s desires, the destructive ones included.

Cas searched Dean’s face for any anxiety, as he had done every time since the first.  Finding Dean as calm as he ever was, he responded with a rough “Yes.”

The tip of the knife dragged down Cas’s collar bone as Dean hovered over the angel.  “You’ll use the safeword if you need it?” Dean questioned quietly as he always did.  It usually erased the last of his uncertainties just to hear Cas say-

“Yes Dean,” a little impatiently through the throbbing of his dick.  “Please,” he added somewhat desperately as Dean dragged the flat of the blade over his sore nipple. 

Dean stole a quick kiss, sealing their trust, their agreement, before beginning to taunt Cas in earnest with the blade.  He traced the tip all the way down Cas’s body, creating a path down one leg before circling around his ankle to trail back up to Cas’s inner thigh, leaving a line of scratches the whole way.  Cas hissed over the more sensitive areas: the nipple, the hip, the ankle, the thigh. 

Dean lifted the blade from Cas’s skin and used the handle to stroke Cas’s cock, starting from his base, dragging slowly all the way to the head.  Cas jerked his handcuffs as the rough material scraped along his over-sensitive length, whimpering softly with the mixed pleasure-pain of it. 

The bed creaked slightly as Dean settled himself on Cas’s thighs, twirling the knife expertly in his hand as Cas followed the blade with his glazed eyes.  Dean felt Cas tremble beneath him as he lowered the point of the knife to Cas’s chest.  A wicked joy possessed Dean to see the angel shuddering, helpless under him.  Blood welled up at the point where blade met skin, and grace did not meet there to erase it, not yet. 

Dean drew several shallow lines down the left side of Cas’s chest, towards his belly.  Cas gritted his teeth harder with each stroke.  Satisfied with his work on that side, Dean switched sides, but not before carving a small x into Cas’s sternum.  As he cut fresh lines down the right side of Cas’s heaving chest, Dean talked.  “You know, Castiel, I would never get away with this on some human.  You’re suffering for a good cause; you make pretty good practice for when I need these skills,”  Cas let out a little shout, tensing his legs as Dean began slicing perpendiculars to the cuts he had made, etching haphazardly down each line, watching little drops of crimson make their own trails.

“Haven’t you suffered enough, Castiel?” asked Dean as he found a fresh patch of skin to mar.

 Cas whimpered “Please…” into the air, his arousal equaling his pain.  He didn’t know what he was begging for more; relief from the pain or relief from the aching in his cock.

Dean ceased his cutting for a moment to smear the blood from the blade onto Cas’s belly before setting down the knife a safe distance away.  “I think,” said Dean before blowing a stream of air onto Cas’s straining cock, causing Cas to buck up and shout, “you deserve to come.”  Dean toyed with Cas’s hole with a light touch.  “Don’t you?”

Cas’s voice was shattered and strained when he choked out a “Yes, Dean, _please_ , Dean.” 

The sound Cas made when Dean slid into him seemed to crackle through the air.  Dean grabbed Cas’s length as he rocked into him and began stroking.  Cas came almost instantly, tightening around Dean to bring him to climax behind him as Dean clutched at one of Cas’s legs.

Dean pulled out of Cas, trembling in the aftershocks, and unlocked the cuffs holding Cas’s grace in check.  He turned his head quickly to watch the white light replace red blood as it glowed from Cas’s lips and chest, even his wrists and a thin line down his side.  Reaching weakly, Cas pulled Dean down on top of him and cleaned him up with a touch, kissing him with lips newly soft.  Dean let Cas hold him, touch him as they sighed with satisfaction.

When Cas seemed to run out of steam, Dean pulled the blankets over them, reveling in the warmth, and snaked his arm around Cas, rubbing at his hip lovingly.  “You need anything, Cas?” 

The angel grunted, though still radiating content.  “Right now?” He asked, voice already being weighted by exhaustion.  “I need you to stay here until I wake up.”  He squeezed Dean weakly, burying his head into Dean’s chest.  Dean smiled and carded his hand through Cas’s ruffled hair, closing his eyes.

“I can do that,” he said, already drifting to sleep.  Dean knew what Cas needed.

 

 


End file.
